


the earth fell away (and threatened to swallow me up)

by tiniestawoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, I flit around a lot in this story okay, M/M, Mpreg, Original Character Death(s), Pack Dynamics, Pack Politics, but like, low key mpreg, no on screen smut, packfic, slow burn Peter/Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: The first place Stiles goes when he gets back to Beacon Hills isn’t his Dad’s house. It probably should have been – he’d been on the road for hours, wasn’t sleeping well, and probably should have headed straight for a bed. It hadn’t even occurred to him until he was parked at an access point to the forest that covered the Beacon Hills preserve. It wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have slept anyway. Sleep was where Sienna was, and he didn’t want to be there.-Stiles runs away and doesn't come back for ten years. He only comes back because he has no where left to run to.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Isaac Lahey, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 420





	the earth fell away (and threatened to swallow me up)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own teen wolf. I don't even want to discuss how I said I wasn't gonna write anymore teen wolf fan fiction and here I am 11k words later with a fic full of feels just because.

The first place Stiles goes when he gets back to Beacon Hills isn’t his Dad’s house. It probably should have been – he’d been on the road for hours, wasn’t sleeping well, and probably should have headed straight for a bed. It hadn’t even occurred to him until he was parked at an access point to the forest that covered the Beacon Hills preserve. It wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have slept anyway. Sleep was where Sienna was, and he didn’t want to be there.

It had been ten years – long, eventful years – since he’d walked these trails, eyes dancing over the footprints in the dirt, the scratches in the wood of various trees. He didn’t smile, but it was something of a comfort to know that he was back where the monsters weren’t just his responsibility. He was back where he could pretend that it wasn’t his job to ward and protect and kill. The grief washed over him. If he’d brought Sienna back here, maybe she’d still be alive.  
  
He stopped before the stump of a tree older than the town of Beacon Hills itself. The Nemeton. He felt it’s humming call and slumped to his knees before it. He touched his hands to its stump, closing his eyes as the gentle, rolling force entered his mind more gently than it had ever before. It was like the tree knew he would break. _Mage. You have returned._

Stiles didn’t need to speak. The trees knew all. They had seen it all happen, through his eyes and through the eyes of others they had chosen. _I had nowhere else to go_.

Phantom hands rested on his shoulders as his eyes squeezed more tightly shut. _You have come to the right place, Mage. You need your pack._

At that, Stiles eyes flew open, as if some humanoid would stand before him and explain exactly what the tree meant. “I don’t have a pack.” He said, his voice dark with disuse and grief.  
  
 _You do. You always have. The bonds are weak, but they wait for you, Mage. They refused to accept any other answer. You were always pack._  
  
Stiles brought one hand – black runes peeked from the jacket sleeve along the skin where it met his wrist – up to tug through his hair. There was no response he could give to that. He closed his eyes again, and this time reached out with his heart, and gasped when he felt them, hair thin strings in every direction. The strings were brittle, fragile, some fraying, but there. Ten years since he’d so much as looked at his pack in person, no more than once-a-year phone calls or emailed responses, but they had held on.  
  
He was afraid to tug on them, afraid to break them, but the tree was right. Losing his wife had shattered Stiles. Losing Sienna and his unborn child had torn the very ground out from under Stiles. So, when his heart had healed enough to breathe, he had packed up the small, nomadic life he’d lived with Sienna for the last five years, and before he knew what he was doing, drove home. Back to Beacon Hills.  
  
 _They **will** come, Mage_. The tree answered the question he hadn’t realized he was asking. _The strings cannot break, they can only be severed, and only by force_. _Tug, they will come_.

Stiles felt the sorrow, the loneliness, the crushing despair that even thinking Sienna’s name welled up in him, and knew he needed them. He isolated three strings and tugged. The strings lit up, glowing red, red, and silver respectively, color dancing along them like a coating, strengthening the connection. “Please.” He said, feeling the crushing sadness take him, as he collapsed into a heap at the base of the tree, tears spilling onto the earth like rain.

\--

Scott sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath. Allison immediately woke, reaching for him, “Scott, what is it?”  
  
Scott’s eyes were red, brimming with tears as he turned to his wife, “I have to go.” He said, confused by his words. He stood, grabbing blindly for clothes, unsure of the hurry, but knowing that he needed to answer that call.  
  
“Scott, go where?” Allison was standing, reaching for his phone and handing it to him. He was an Alpha. Sometimes, he had to go, it was something she had accepted years ago.

  
Tears spilled out of his eyes as he finally spoke, his breathing coming in harsh sobs, “It’s Stiles.”

  
Allison’s own tears welled, and she nodded, “Go.” There was no more explanation needed.

\--

Derek hadn’t been sleeping when the tug hit him, but he nearly fell to his knees in the kitchen when the pain came spiraling down that particular pack bond. “Fuck.” The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, and he dropped the glass he’d been planning to fill with water. He caught himself on the lip of the counter before his knees buckled, his eyes flashing alpha red.  
  
“Derek?”  
  
Derek turned to his lover, breathing hard, “I have to go.” He reached for the willowy man, buried his face into his golden curls, “Isaac, I think I woke the twins.” He kissed his head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  
  
“Who is it this time?” Isaac’s warm tone was full of love and acceptance, “Who needs their alpha in the middle of the night this time?”

Derek pulled away, taking a long steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn’t want to say, didn’t want Isaac to know, but he couldn’t hide it, not from this man.  
  
“It’s Stiles.”  
  
He didn’t need to open his eyes to watch Isaac’s heart break.

\--

“Were you just going to sneak out into the night without saying anything?” Lydia paused, her hands on the door handle, dressed in black, red hair tied into a tight bun atop her head. She turned to look at her wife, licking her lips.  
  
“I didn’t want to wake you before your big day tomorrow.” She smiled, reaching for Cora and drawing the brunette in for a kiss. Her hand drifted down to the slight curve of her stomach, “Besides, I’ll be back.”  
  
“It’s _our_ big day.” Cora growled, iron arms locking around her partner, “This better be good.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes showed the smallest hint of weakness, of pain, and her wife released her, “Not good, Cor.” She whispered, reaching up to wipe tears that started to fall, “Not good, but I have to go.” She kissed her partner, gave another reverent touch to her stomach. “It’s Stiles.”  
  
Cora gasped, reeling from just the name. “If the rumors are true...” Cora transitioned in that breath from a loving, needy wife, to the Left Hand of the McCall-Hale pack. “Go to him.”

Lydia stared her down, “What is the rumor, Cora.” She asked, making her own transition from partner to Emissary.  
  
Cora’s breath hitched, “Stiles got on the bad side of a pack in Georgia. No one is really sure what he did. He’s the only one who would know that.” She swallowed deliberately, “Rumor has it that they killed his wife in retribution – and his unborn child.”

The gasp that came out of Lydia’s mouth surprised both of them, her hand moving to cover her own mouth. “No.” She whispered, eyes wide and full of tears. She surged forward to kiss Cora with a renewed vigor. “I love you. I’ll be back for the appointment.” She released Cora and turned to sprint from the house.

\--

Stiles had lost most of his track of time when Sienna’s life had ended. Had it been weeks? Days? He wasn’t sure. It could have been five minutes ago, the pain hadn’t changed.

_“Promise me, Stiles.” Sienna’s eyes were full of the tears that streaked down her face. “Promise me that you won’t give up.” She was weak already, clutching at her torn abdomen, at the alpha-wounds that would heal too slowly, at the remains of what had been a healthy fetus this morning. “Stiles promise me.”  
  
“I promise.” The words came out a lie, tasted like a lie, felt like a lie, but Sienna settled, a last few tears falling as her eyes took his. “Keep fighting. I can heal you.”  
  
“No you can’t, Stiles.” She chastised, “You’ve watched enough Star Wars to know what happens if you try to heal a deathblow.” _

_  
He choked on a sob and buried his face into her neck. “I swear I didn’t know. I didn’t know that that wolf was the Alpha’s mate. I was just trying to protect the humans, I swear to you.”  
  
“I know, Stiles.” Sienna’s hand gripped loosely at the back of his head, “I love you. Go home, Stiles. I know you were alone a long time before I came along. You can’t do this alone.” The hand slipped from the back of his head as she went limp._

“SIENNA NO!!” Stiles sat bolt upright, unaware that he had been sleeping, face streaked with dirt and tears as he angrily pounded against the ground. “NO.”

Warm arms wrapped around his back pulling him withconsiderable strength into his chest. “Shh.” A hand stroked through his hair, pulled him into his chest. “Stiles it’s okay. You’re safe.” Scott. Scott had come. Stiles felt a shudder rip through his entire body.  
  
“It’s not okay.” Stiles whimpered, curling into his chest, sobbing harder, “Nothing is ever going to be okay again.”

  
“What happened to him?” Derek’s voice, “Who is Sienna?”  
  
“Sienna is – was – ” A new scream of pain tore through Stiles at that correction in Lydia’s words, but Scott kept him held firmly, tightly against his chest. “ – his wife. The Left Hand says the rumors say she was killed as retribution for something.”  
  


Retribution. Something like guilt bubbled up in Stiles’ chest, and he let out a hollow, broken laugh. “They killed her.” He said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a sob. “Because I attacked the Alpha’s mate during a full moon to keep her from attacking a group of human teenagers.” Tears spilled again, hot and angry. “I didn’t even kill her. I kept them to the FUCKING CODE and they took both of them for the _insult_.” He couldn’t speak anymore after that, couldn’t even breathe.

“Both of them?” Scott asked, looking up at Lydia, whose tears were falling freely.

She looked from Scott to Derek, and then her eyes fell on Stiles’ shaking, broken form. “Sienna was pregnant.” She didn’t want to say the words, didn’t even want to believe the words.

Scott’s grip on Stiles tightened and Derek wheeled around, his fist impaling itself in the nearest tree. “We can’t let them get away with that.” Scott said, rocking Stiles gently, “Derek, it’s against the code, right? If Sienna was an innocent, was her death really sanctioned?”  
  


“I don’t know. It depends on the justification the Alpha gives. I’ll have to reach out to Peter to be sure.”

_Right now, he does not need justice. Right now, he needs pack. He needs to heal. The mage will not survive this alone._

The words were loud, rumbling over the entire clearing.

The three in the clearing nodded, Lydia having dropped to her knees in front of Scott, embracing Stiles tightly. The man had stopped moving, stopped shaking, and his breathing was dropping off into something like sleeping. “Where do we take him? His dads?” She asked softly.  
  
“He wouldn’t want John to see him like this.” Derek answered, solemnly, “And the Nemeton is right. His connection to the pack is so weak, but he needs pack. He needs family.” He shook his head. “I should take him with me.”

“Derek, you’re going to have enough to deal with.” Lydia said softly, “Isaac probably thinks you’re going to leave him now that Stiles is back.”

Derek’s eyes flashed with hurt, and he let out a broken laugh, “After seven years and three cubs, I’ve never understood that particular insecurity.” He rubbed his hands over his face, “But you’re right.”

Lydia looked at Scott, “I can’t take him back to the house. I don’t think he could tolerate someone who is pregnant right now.” She said, licking her lips. “Would Allison mind if you took him?”  
  
Scott shook his head, “No, I can take him. I’ll call her on the drive and have her make up the spare room.” He stood up, carrying Stiles like he didn’t weigh anything. “Derek, go back to your husband, Lydia, back to Cora. We’ll call a meeting in a few days – for now, keep it to the three of us and our respective others. I’ll call the Sheriff in the morning.”  
  
Lydia bowed her head in submission to both Alphas and left the clearing, Derek trailing behind her.  
  
The Nemeton’s voice rolled softly, only to Stiles. _Let them in, mage. Let them love you_.

\--

When Stiles wakes the next time, it isn’t from a nightmare. He just wakes, surrounded by blankets and pillows, gentle sunlight falling onto his face through the open window. There’s a creaking door, and a small pitter-patter of footsteps as he opens his eyes the rest of the way and catches a glimpse of a child darting from his room. “Daddy!” He hears, “Daddy, He’s awake!”

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, reality crashing down over him. He sat up in the bed, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand and taking a drink of it as Scott McCall walks through the door to the room. He’s aged – if barely. Werewolves. But he’s got an air of confidence, a new haircut, and currently, a small child on his hip. Stiles feels an ache in his chest as he bites back the tears. “Sorry if Mel woke you.” Scott says.

Stiles shook his head, “I didn’t hear her until I was already waking up.” He looks at his hands, clean despite last night’s forest floor breakdown. “What time is it?” He clears his throat.

“It’s about 11. We got back from the tree around 4.” Scott kisses the child on the forehead and sets her down. “Can you go ask Mama if she can throw together some breakfast for Uncle Stiles?” The little girl beams and darts away.  
  
“She’s a wolf.” Stiles said, ignoring the pang that the affectionate title.  
  
Scott cocks his head. “How can you tell?” He looks at Stiles warily, “Alan has his suspicions but even he isn’t sure.”

Stiles looks down at his arms lined with runes and other marks from ten years as a nomadic mage. “She feels like a wolf.” He shrugs, meeting Scott’s eyes, “Sorry to surprise you. I won’t say anything to anyone else.”

“No, dude, it’s okay. I just wasn’t… There isn’t anyone like you around.” Scott sits on the edge of the bed. “Deaton does what he can but he’s not got enough…power.”

Stiles nods, taking a long deep breath, “Power I have, in spades.” His voice grows dark, “Not that it fucking made a difference.”  
  
Scott’s arm wraps around Stiles’ shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.” He whispers.  
  
Stiles is tired of sorry. He’s tired of hurting. “Me too.” He says, pushing down the tears that threatened to spill. “Is Mel named after your mom?” He asks softly.

Scott nods, “We just don’t call her Melissa unless she’s in trouble.” He smiles, a boyish smile that Stiles knows. “Which doesn’t usually happen unless Laura is around.”

Stiles eyes widen minutely. “Derek’s daughter?” He asks. “I didn’t know Derek had kids.”  
  
Scott took a breath, “Well, Derek and... Isaac’s.” He said, carefully, gauging Stiles’ reaction.  
  
Stile’s face hardens slightly, and then he nods. He left. “Good for them. I didn’t know that male pregnancies were real until like 3 years ago when I met a mated pair. From what that guy told me, I’m surprised Derek convinced Isaac to do it more than once.”e

“Only twice. The second time they got twins. Isaac swears he’s never going through it again, though.” Scott laughs.

Stiles doesn’t respond, just swings his legs off the side of the bed, “Bathroom?” he asks, and follows Scott’s directions until he reaches it, locking the door behind him and throwing up aural shields before he completely loses it, grasping the sink for support as the sobs wrack through him. Kids. The pack all had kids, or would have. All of those extra, spidersilk thin threads were the kids that Stiles had never met.  
  
Had Sienna had a thread, once? Had the baby? Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It took ten minutes for Stiles to be able to breathe again. There was something pulling at his heart gently. He dropped the shield and opened the door to Scott’s pained expression. “I could feel you in there, but I couldn’t hear anything.” He said, “Stiles please… please don’t hide your pain. I’m sorry. We want to help you.”

“NONE OF YOU CAN HELP ME.” The tears were back, panic was back. “None of you can give me back what I lost.” He dropped his voice for the sake of the small werewolf ears in the house. “It doesn’t even matter anymore.” He stalked downstairs and froze at the bottom of the stairs.

Standing in the doorway to the McCall house, dressed in jeans and a soft-looking sweatshirt, greying hair, blue eyes, and a mirroring look of pain, was John Stilinski. “Stiles.” He said, choking out the name as a sob bubbled up in him.

“Dad.” Stiles said, breath catching. The look of pain in his father’s eyes wasn’t pity. It wasn’t anger. It was sympathetic, empathetic pain. The knowing look of staring at another man who had lost everything. “I was gonna call. I was gonna tell you about Sienna being --” His voice broke. “I couldn’t find the words.”  
  
John nodded and stepped towards his son, opening his arms to his son, “The pack called me, Stiles.” It was all it took for Sties to barrel forward into his fathers chest. “You’re home now, and you’re safe, and I _know_ Stiles. I know that it feels like the end.” John kissed his Son’s temple, no longer able to reach the top of his head, “You can heal from this.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to.” Stiles cried. “I just want her back. I want them both back.”

Scott was gripping Mel and Allison, tears streaming down his face as he did so, watching the scene in front of them. He tugged them gently upstairs, leaving the Stilinski men to their private grief.

\--

Derek winced as he walked into the kitchen, Isaac’s eyes sharp as he watched him. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked, glancing at the clock. “It’s late.”

Isaac shrugged, setting a plate of eggs and toast down on the table. “You got back late, it seemed like you needed the sleep.” He went to leave the kitchen, but Derek grabbed his wrist lightly.

Derek rubbed his hand over his face. “Isaac, I need you to listen to me for a minute.” He let go of his husbands’ wrist. “I love you. You are my mate. You are my first and only choice. You’re the father of my cubs and my husband.” Derek met his eyes, “I’m not going to leave you because Stiles Stilinski is back in town, even if he was capable of wanting that kind of affection.”

Isaac huffed, shaking his head, “10 years ago –”

“It isn’t 10 years ago.” Derek said, standing up and pulling the beta into a hug, “It isn’t ten years ago, Isaac. I’m not the man I was ten years ago. Now I have you, and I have our kids, and I have our pack and a life that I’m _not_ going to give up.” He kissed the younger man’s cheek. “Please, please believe me.” 

Isaac nodded, kissing Derek’s forehead and then his lips. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m just….a love like what you and Stiles had was hard to ignore.”  
  
“And he’s pack. He’s family. I will always love him.” Isaac stiffened in his grasp, “but not the way I love you.” He finished, and Isaac relaxed.

“Why is he even back?” Isaac asked with loosely held venom in his voice.  
  
Derek closed his eyes, remembering that overwhelming pain from Stiles’ pack bond once again, his stomach knotting. “There was an…incident wherever Stiles was last. His wife was killed.”

Isaac gaped, “His wife?” He asked. “Stiles wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Derek rested his head against his mate’s neck. “I don’t get the impression he had the chance to stop it. And Isaac, that’s not the worst part.” He pulled away, tears in his hazel eyes. “She was pregnant.” Derek’s hands gripped the blond tightly, “That’s why I went, last night. Because for the first time in 10 years, Stiles asked for his pack, and the pain that rolled down the bond was……” He shuddered. “I know what would have happened to me if I’d lost you and any of the cubs.”

Isaac was openly crying as he held himself against Derek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I doubted you. I didn’t mean to make this harder for you.”  
  


“Daddy, Papa?” A young girl popped her head into the kitchen, two smaller heads poking out almost comically around the corner. “We heard you crying. What’s wrong?”  
  
Derek released Isaac after a kiss and knelt to pull his daughter into his arms as Isaac scooped up the twins. “One of our old friends, old like, Uncle Scott or Aunt Lydia, is mourning.” He explained. “Like when Aunt Allison’s mom died? And everyone was sad.” Grief was so tangible to him, but it was hard to explain to a child. “Daddy and I are just sad for him.” Derek whispered, nuzzling into his daughters hair.

“Will we get to meet your friend?” Laura asked, looking from Derek to Isaac. Derek turned to look at Isaac.  
  
“Yes.” Isaac said, his head resting on Talia’s head as Camden’s face nuzzled into his fathers neck. “One day, yes.”

\--

Over the course of the next two days, Scott and Allison – and Mel, where she could – helped fill Stiles in on the state of things in Beacon Hills.

Melissa and John had moved in together years ago, both seeking companionship and neither wanting to deal with an empty house. No one really knew – or dared to ask – what that relationship was, but it made both of them happy, so they let it be.

Scott and Allison had gotten married nine years ago – an invitation Stiles had ignored. They only had one child – so far – and that was four-year-old Melissa. Allison had taken over the armament company from her father after her mother’s death eight years ago. Scott had taken over full time for Deaton after finishing Veterinarian school. Deaton still worked part time to help when he was needed.

Jackson had returned to Beacon Hills and was in a long term, somewhat ambiguous relationship was Danny, who had been brought into the know years ago. The two shared an apartment near the county courthouse, where Jackson worked as the DA. Danny worked for both Allison and Derek, running IT for both of their companies.

Lydia had married Cora Hale three years ago, which had shocked Stiles into choking on his curly fries. The two had asked Jackson to father a child for them, and he’d agreed. Cora was pregnant. Nobody missed the look of absolute despair on Stiles face when he heard this news, but the mage had pushed through. Lydia taught at Beacon Hills High School and worked remotely with various university research programs in her spare time. Lydia was the acting Pack Emissary, and Cora and Malia split Left Hand duties, both still being trained by Peter Hale.

Malia and Peter had disappeared for a while, traveling and “bonding.” Malia – when she was in town – lived with Derek and Isaac and helped take care of their brood. They had three pups – Laura, who was 6, and twins Camden and Talia, who were two. She traveled often, gathering intelligence for the pack, and renewing alliances. Peter apparently mostly kept to himself, but had spent the better part of the last 10 years as a “good guy” so most of the pack’s animosity towards him had faded.

Derek had married Isaac seven years ago, and the pair had three natural born children. Derek ran some kind of brokerage firm, and Isaac largely stayed home as the packs den maker, responsible for much of the cooking and social organization. He occasionally took the children to shelters, to play with abused children like he had once been.

Scott and Derek co-alpha’d the McCall-Hale pack. Scott was the official face of the pack, but Derek called most of the shots behind the scenes, knowing more about werewolf culture and expectations than Scott did.

A Pack meeting had been called to discuss Stiles’ return to Beacon Hills. Scott had told Stiles ten times that he didn’t have to come, but he had ignored him. Ten minutes in, his wife’s name was uttered for the first time and he wished he hadn’t, leaving the meeting room in a hurry for the den. Worry screamed at him down the pack bonds. Seconds before he threw up the aural shield that would have allowed him a moment to scream, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  
Turning, he glared over his shoulder into the – thankfully human - blue eyes of Peter Hale. “I just need a minute.” He mumbled, looking away.

Peter hummed but didn’t let go, “Did you know that aural shields only prevent us from hearing your pain?” He said, circling Stiles so he could kneel in front of where the younger man had fallen to his knees, “They don’t prevent us from feeling it.” Peter tugged at the weak bond between himself and Stiles, and Stiles finally looked up to meet his eyes.

“Nobody needs to hear me scream like a –”

“Like a man who has lost everything?” Peter finished for him, cutting the self-deprecating thought from Stiles’ lips. “Like a man who has every right to be in immeasurable pain?”

Stiles’ eyes bubbled over with tears. He stared, biting his own lip. “What do you want, Peter?” He asked, annoyance at the forefront of his emotions.  
  
“I want you to speak with someone about your loss.” He said, simply, dropping his hand from Stiles’ shoulder. “It can be me, it can be one of the Alphas, it can be your father. I don’t really care.” Peter’s voice dropped low enough, speaking directly into Stiles’ ear so that none of the wolves in the other room could hear what was happening, “I don’t want to watch the pack lose you again.”

Stiles jolted at this, sitting up and recoiling from Peter, ignoring the way hot breath had felt against his ear. He met Peter’s eyes, whiskey-golden eyes searching. With a shuddering breath he nodded, and turned to walk back to the meeting room. He took his seat beside Allison, who looked to him and nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.  
  
“Stiles, perfect timing.” Lydia had been speaking. She motioned to Scott and Derek to stand. “Alpha’s, as a courtesy I’ve served as your emissary after the retiring of Emissary Deaton five years ago. I held this position only as a placeholder.” She turned to meet Stiles’ eyes, “Your rightful emissary is home now. I yield the position to Emissary Stilinski.”

Stiles eyes were wide, his mouth agape. “Why me?”

Lydia’s million-dollar smile flashed, “Stiles, you were the emissary before you knew what an emissary was. You’ve always been.” She shrugged and moved back to her seat beside Cora.

“Well, Stiles.” Scott said, “Do you accept?”

Stiles stood, still shaking, and walked to the center of the room, looking up at the two men. He Knelt on the floor, facing the rest of the pack, back to the Alphas, head dropped in respect. “I accept.” He whispered. Derek stood to his left and Scott to his right, each with a hand on his shoulder, and Stiles gasped.  
  
All of the pack bonds, even those to the children he hadn’t met, flared to life, alive and whole and well. Derek and Scott’s red bondlines were bright, bold, and sure. The wolf-beta’s gleamed golden, Lydia’s and Danny’s silver, Peter’s blue. Stiles searched, habitually, for the bond that was missing, but stopped, stopped searching the room for her face, and bit back a wave of emotion that the pack all felt.

  
“We should have waited, this was a mistake. None of you should have to feel this. ” He tried to run from the room, feeling the grief and longing crash over him. _She’d be so proud of me._ Scott stopped him, falling to the ground beside him, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ shoulders.

“Don’t go, Stiles.” Scott said. When Stiles stilled, still shaking with the force of his sobs, Scott let go. “We are your pack, Stiles. Derek and I are shielding the children, but the rest of us can feel your pain. We love you, Stiles. We’re here for you.”

Stiles shook his head, glancing up at his once-best friend. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I can’t pretend to be okay.”

“Nobody wants you to pretend, Stilinski.” Jacksons voice was jarring in the moment, and it shocked Stiles enough to catch his attention. “You came home for a reason. None of us are going to bring back your dead wife, and we get that.” Jackson stood from the couch and stepped towards Stiles, grasping him in an awkward hug. “Welcome home.” He winked and wandered from the room.

  
One by one, the pack welcomed their emissary back home, until the only people left in the room were Isaac, Derek, and Scott. Scott looked at the other three men and took his leave from the room.  
  
Stiles took a long, tired breath. “Congratulations, Isaac.” He said, and neither wolf could detect a lie. “I’m sure your children are beautiful.” The wave of pain that rolled off Stiles was nearly palpable.

Derek took a step towards Isaac, who shook his head at his mate. “They are. They want to meet you.” Isaac’s warm smile overtook his face as he gathered Stiles into his arms, “Welcome home, Stiles.” He kissed his cheek before letting him go. He locked eyes with his mate once more before leaving the room.

Stiles looked up at Derek, eyes hard, but exhaustion the primary emotion. An aural shield snapped up around the room, preventing prying ears from hearing. “You don’t have to lie to me.” He said, turning to walk away.

“Stiles.” The mage stopped at the alpha’s tone. “I’ve never lied to you.” He wheeled around to face Derek, “10 years ago, nobody tried to stop you when you left because we all believed you’d come right back to us.”

Stiles scoffed, “Nobody tried to stop me, including you, my _lover_.” The word was spat with such disgust.

Derek recoiled. “I thought I was doing what was best for you by letting you go.”

Stiles laughed, a dark, hollow, empty sound. “Well look where I ended up. Right back here, arguing with you. Only this time, you get to leave, go back to your perfect fucking mate and your perfect fucking family. And what do I get, Derek?” He chewed on his lip. “I get to go back to my fathers and sleep alone, right back where I started 10 years ago. Consider yourself lucky. I hope you never feel the pain that I do.”

“The pain of losing your entire family, you mean?” Derek roared in response. “The pain of losing the person you _thought_ loved you enough to come home to you? Everyone in this pack has had to deal with pain, Stiles. None of us live perfect lives, and it would be a good idea to remember that.”

Stiles just stared, eyes iced over, face an indescribable mask. “Fuck you, Hale.”

  
Derek felt the pop of power as the aural shield dropped. He met Stiles eyes with hazel orbs of anger, pain and confusion. “Welcome back, Emissary.” He muttered, storming past Stiles out of the room.

\--

Life become a routine blur for the next two weeks after the pack meeting. Every morning he walked out to the woods behind his father’s house to meditate, speak with the Nemeton, and find his center. After that, he made breakfast for his father, who had mostly retired. They spent the morning talking about Sports, or some of Stiles’ initial travels, or just watching TV.

Midday, Stiles left the house to meet with Scott and Cora, and sometimes Malia. Derek occasionally made an appearance but usually just listened grumpily through a cellphone. The pack was stable, the lands were safe. There was no reason to patrol. Life was surprisingly easy.

After the midday meeting, he and Scott would have lunch – occasionally with Allison or Lydia joining them, and then Stiles returns to his fathers house to work on his own projects – updating the bestiary with his own knowledge, working on a book of short stories based on his first five years of travel.

In the evenings, he and his father are usually invited to dinner with members of the pack, and they go, and they socialize. When they’re done, Stiles goes back to his father’s house, drinks himself to a stupor and goes to a fitful sleep and dreams of his wife and the child that never was. Some nights, he wakes up screaming her name.  
  
For two weeks, things almost seem like maybe it will be okay. Maybe the Nemeton was right and this is a life that Stiles is allotted. He’s alive, if barely, he’s doing his duties for the pack. He’s doing his duties as a son.

For two weeks, the only time Stiles hears his wife’s name is from his own mouth in the pre-dawn hours, before collapsing into sobs until he passes back into his fitful sleep.

He should have known the other shoe was going to drop eventually. But even if he knew it was going to drop, he couldn’t have predicted how.

One night, after a pack dinner at the main house – Derek and Isaac’s, Stiles had retreated from the main rooms into the library, glancing around the well-maintained collection and trying to catch his breath, the shifter of brandy at his lips doing little to dull the gentle roar of pain.

“Are you Uncle Stiles?”  
  
He turns around to meet the eyes of a young werewolf child with dark brown, stick straight hair, and crystal blue eyes. “That depends, who are you, little wolf?” He asks, sitting on one of the armchairs.

“I’m Laura Hale.” The little girl smiles proudly, flashing a toothy grin. “How did you know I’m a werewolf?” She asked.

Stiles looked at her with quizzical eyes, “Do you know what I am?” He asked, gently.  
  
“The emissary!”

“That’s right. I’m a mage. And that means, I can tell that you’re a werewolf.” Stiles set the shifter down. “Besides, I know werewolves very well. I’ve been dealing with them since your daddy – or papa – whichever one Isaac is, and I were in school together.”

“Wow, that’s like forever.”

Stiles smiled, “It certainly feels like it. Do you want to know a secret, little wolf?”

Laura’s grin flashed again, “I like secrets. Auntie Cora says I keep secrets very well.”

Stiles chuckled, “I’ll bet you do.” He leaned down, “My wife was a werewolf.” He said softly.

The little girl lit up, “You have a wife? Why isn’t she here.”

Stiles felt himself start to shake. “She was taken from me.” He said softly, eyes going dark. “You should run off to your dads now, little one, they wouldn’t like you talking to me.”

“I don’t know why.” She huffed, “You’re really smart.” She turned and smiled one more time at him, “Uncle Stiles, if your wife was taken from you, why don’t you go get her back?”

Stiles took a long breath, a pang of jealousy for childhood innocence, “If only I could, sweetheart.” He nodded at her.

Moments after she left, a flash of motion alerted Stiles to a second figure lurking in the semi-dark library. “Perhaps my sources were wrong,” Peter Hale took the chair beside Stiles, “But my sources told me that you left Beacon Hills to get away from werewolves, to learn magic.”

Stiles glared at him, “What do you think I spent five years all over the goddamn world doing?” He growled.

“But what did you spend the other five years doing, Stiles?”

Stiles stared at Peter. “If you know the answer to the question, why are you asking?”

“I only know part of the answer. I know that five years ago, the commanding beta of a strong, old werewolf pack defected from her pack to go omega. Caused quite an uproar. I know the rumors about why. I know that after that, you were a lot harder to track.”

“What is your point, Peter?” Stiles took another long drag from his glass, wishing he could continue to ignore the pain that threatened to slice him open.

  
“I mean that you’re still hiding, Stiles. You openly, almost happily, dare I say, talk about your first five years of travel. But then nothing. I’ve not even heard you say her name in all this time. That sounds dangerously like repressing the emotions. And Stiles, would you say I know a thing or two about the consequences of repressed emotions?”

Stiles looked away from the older werewolf with a scoff. “Oh right, we killed you once because of it.”

Peter grinned, a smarmy, knowing grin that quickly turned sharp, “Don’t let this destroy you so far that I have to do the same to you.” He stood to walk from the room.

  
“Peter.” Stiles said softly, looking up at him with lazy brown eyes. “The sentiment is nice, but you couldn’t kill me.” He smirked. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure who could.” The threat hung heavy in the air.

Stiles understand the sentiment, nonetheless. And the tiny amount of ease that talking about Sienna to the cub had brought to his chest was indicative that Peter was probably correct. He reached out to his contacts, seeking a supernatural _therapist_.

\--

Three months after his mate – the pack finally knows she was a werewolf, knows she was the Second of a high ranking midwestern pack, one who ran away with and married Stiles to avoid a forced mating – died, Stiles gets a phone call that makes his blood run cold, that shakes the ironclad control he has on his magic.

He’s sitting in the library of the main pack house researching with Peter, who had grown on Stiles over the past months. The former Left Hand knew a considerable amount about pack dynamics and politics, but his knowledge was met turn for turn with Stiles’ knowledge of individual packs that dotted the country. Packs he and Sienna had visited and mingled with as they traveled. The two spent a lot of time together, and mostly, Stiles was thankful not to be alone with his thoughts.  
  
“We have your son.” The southern drawl was unmistakable.

“That’s impossible.” Stiles barely breathes out, his hands shaking, the books in the library around him shaking. “My child died with his mother.” Peter is suddenly next to him, moving from across the room to place a hand on his shoulder, temporarily quieting the shaking.

“Ah, but did you check? Did you check her ruined stomach to see that he was there? Did you know that with the right spells, a fetal werewolf can be transferred from one host to the next nearly seamlessly? Painfully, I’ve gathered, but without harm to the child itself.”

Derek, alerted by the shaking, enters the library in beta-shift, staring at Stiles with blood red eyes. Stiles masks Derek’s heartbeat and flips the phone onto speaker. “Prove it. Prove you have my son.”

The line clicks dead, and seconds later, his phone beeps with two messages. The first is a video, agonizing to watch, but the three of them do anyway, Stiles breath hitching. It’s the spell they used, tearing open Sienna’s stomach and transferring the fetus to the waiting Thomas pack beta. Both female wolves scream in agony. Stiles ends the video in tears and flips to the next message, a picture of a newborn baby, a mess of black curls over a face full of freckles, and honey-golden eyes that Stiles knows mirror his own.

His hands shake as he re-dials the alpha. “What do you want, Alpha Thomas.” He asks, trying to keep the heartbreak, the need out of his voice. He looks at Derek and Peter before saying, “How many assassinations is my son worth to you?”

If either of the Hale men are surprised by Stiles’ most recent profession, they don’t react. “Oh, Stiles, if only I could make it that easy for you.” Thomas chuckles into the phone. “Come back to Georgia, mage. Bring some of your Hale Pack pets. What I want is an alliance, and protection. Maybe an assassination or two. But don’t keep me waiting too long, _Emissary Stilinski_. I don’t want to have to start sending your son to you….in parts.” The click on the line is loud.

Stiles throws his phone across the room hard enough to shatter the screen and falls to his knees, face in his hands. “I just wanted this to be over.” He cried, but stilled himself quickly. “My son is alive.” He let out a breathless laugh, staring at Derek and Peter. “I…..” He brought a hand to his lips. “We need to call a meeting,” He said, collecting himself.

Derek nods and leaves the room to call the meeting, and Stiles turns to Peter, tears welling in his eyes. “Peter, I need you to promise me something.” The mage whispers, leaning close enough to the beta that he can see the dazzling blue dancing in his eyes.

“What’s that, Stiles.” Peter asks, his hands moving to wrap around the mage’s hips.

  
“If my son dies before I get him away from them, at least let me murder them all before you take me down.” Stiles smiles a cold, lazy smile.

Peter nods, bringing his face close enough to Stiles that he can smell the fear and desperation in the mans carefully cloaked scent, “Only if you promise me something in return.” He said, nosing against the mages neck, scenting him.

  
“I can’t promise to keep it.”

“Once we have your son back, you’ll let me take you out to dinner.” Peter says, pressing a single, gentle kiss to his pulse point before disentangling himself from Stiles. “Let’s go downstairs. We have a rescue to plan.”

Stiles nods, “You go down, I’ll be down in a moment. I have some favors to call in.”

  
Peter tosses him his ruined phone as he leaves the library, and Stiles begins dialing.

By the time the pack is assembled downstairs, there are eyes and ears all across Georgia and the southern states. Should the Thomas pack try and move his son anywhere, Stiles would know. Stiles also had confirmation from the one member of the Thomas pack he ever trusted that the child in the photo was his. For the first time in months, Stiles feels a purpose, feels like there’s a reason that he was still here.

“I left work for this, can we make this quick?” Stiles rolls his eyes at Jackson before he stands to address the pack.  
  
“My son is alive.” He said softly, his voice stormy. “Before the Thomas pack killed my wife, they transferred the child to a second host. I’ve never done the spell, but I believe it’s possible. I have been agonizing for months over how the Thomas pack had justified to the council taking two lives for a single mistake, but it’s clear now that they didn’t.

The fact that the council said nothing to me is unsurprising. At the time, I was not affiliated with any pack, so they had no reason to notify me that my child – my son had been transferred.” Stiles took a deep breath. “The Thomas pack is not a good pack. What they want in return for my son is simple on paper but could very easily become a nightmare. They want an alliance with the McCall-Hale pack. They want assurances and protections. They want my….. _services_ to assist with more complicated matters.”

“Just what _services_ are they talking about?” A very pregnant Cora locked her eyes on his. “ _Emissary_.”

  
Stiles met her eyes with a steely look. “They need an assassin.” He said simply, ignoring the hushed gasps. “And they know I’m a good one.”

“Does it matter?” Scott asked, “They have his son. Stiles’ actu son. We have to go. We’re going.” He said, meeting the Left Hand’s eyes, flashing red.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Cora said, sitting down, looking at Malia, “Sorry, Lia, It’s up to you this time. And our dear Uncle, of course.” Peter chuckled.  
  
Scott looked at Derek for a moment before nodding. “Allison, stay or go?” He asked, looking his wife dead in the eye.

“Go.” She said, a fierce look on her face. She turned to Isaac, “Can Mel stay with you?”

Isaac nodded, meeting the eyes of his own mate, “I’ll stay with the cubs, and Cora. We can ask Chris, Melissa and the Sheriff to stay with us.”

“I don’t think my father will want to sit this one out.” Stiles said with a grumble, “We can ask him to, but I think five seconds after he hears that this essentially consists of a rescue mission for his grandchild, he’ll buy his own damn plane ticket.”

Derek nodded, “Okay. Isaac, Cora, the cubs, Melissa and Argent stay here. All of you stay together while we’re gone. Lydia and Danny, can you run tactical for us from here?” Once they nod their agreement, Derek continues. “Danny and Lydia stay then.”

Scott looks around, “So, Stiles, me, Derek, Peter, Allison, Jackson, and Malia go to Georgia.” He looked at Danny, “Can you arrange that?” The dark haired man was already typing before Scott had asked.  
  


“Don’t forget the Sheriff.” Stiles added, “I don’t think his retirement covers pack trips.” He looked around the room. “I need you all to know something.” The buzz around the room stopped. “I came here because Sienna told me I had to survive this. I didn’t know why. I don’t know if she knew why. But I came back to the Nemeton, and to the pack, for her. And I cannot thank all of you enough for welcoming me back, and giving me a place to heal, but.” Stiles swallowed and met Peter’s eyes.

“If this mission fails, I won’t be coming back.”

\--

Predictably, the Sheriff refuses to stay behind as soon as he hears that the trip to Georgia concerns his grandchild. The Stilinski men are alike in this respect. John has always respected the pack, but this, he claimed, was family.

Touching down in Atlanta felt surreal for Stiles, who had only flashes of memories of driving through the big city on his way out of the state, away from the Thomas pack and the memories of what he’d caused – forever, he had hoped.

The first people they met with were the faeries that Stiles had befriended, the sleek, beautiful creatures had been keeping quiet tabs on the Thomas packs movements. They couldn’t be sure which building housed the mage-wolf child, but the number of heartbeats had been constant since Stiles’ call.

The next meeting was – of all places – in a Walmart parking lot. They were plentiful in Georgia, and enough strange things went down that two groups of people meeting to have a conversation wasn’t that surprising.

Gage Thomas was tall and broad and blond and fit the whole “white supremacy” thing that Georgia had going quite well. He’d brought a few betas, and his own emissary, a tall, thin half-elf woman that Stiles hated. She was powerful, though, and Stiles felt her magic probe the shields he’d placed over the pack.

Stiles stood at the center, unshielded, with each of the Alphas over his shoulders. Jackson and Peter stood to the left side. The Sheriff stood to their right. Gage stood lazily by himself, leaning against the hood of his truck. “Wow, Stilinski, you really took me seriously. I didn’t realize your little shit meant that much to you.”

“I’d use more respect than that when talking to my son, boy.” John, in all his years, had shed his fear of werewolves and creatures that went bump in the night.

Gage’s smile just widened, “Wow, a whole family affair. This is going to be so much fun, eh Stilinski?” He stood up, pulling up to his full, intimidating height. “Aren’t you supposed to have brought some Alpha’s along, or did you leave those tucked away in California?”

Scott and Derek bristled, eyes flashing in the midday sun. Gage just chuckled, “Y’know, I would have let you stay here, and serve a real pack, not one that needs _two_ alphas for less than twenty wolves. I would have even killed Ilyia for you, Stiles.”

Stiles hadn’t responded to any of the taunts that Gage had thrown his way, “Where is my son, Thomas?” He asked, his voice making even his own pack shiver with the power it carried. “You asked me to come here to negotiate, I’ve heard nothing but insults. Do you actually want something, Gage, or do you just want to give me a reason to tear your pack to pieces?”

Gage stepped closer to Stiles, who was still rooted to the spot he’d started. “I want your Pack to take care of some …. problems for me.” He wrapped an arm around Stiles shoulder and spun him to face his pack. “Stiles here used to be the biggest bad guy up and down the east coast. Him and that wolf bitch of his.”

In half a second, Gage was ten feet from Stiles, and the man still hadn’t moved. “Call my wife a bitch one more time.” Stiles said in a deadly whisper. “Who do you want me to take out, Gage.”

“The Leopolds.” Thomas said with a smirk, jumping to his feet.

Stiles felt his blood grow cold. His eyes closed and he took a long, steadying breath. “The whole pack, or just the Alpha?” He asked, face a mask.  
  
Gage stepped back towards his betas, “The whole pack.” He smirked, winking at Stiles, and jumping back in his obnoxious pickup truck. “Call me when it’s done, Stilinski. Your son’s a real good baby - hardly ever cries. It’d be a real shame to start giving him a reason to.”

Stiles waited for the trucks to be out of sight before he turned to his pack. “I’m not killing the Leopolds.” He said decisively.

  
“Not that I’m usually one to advocate for murder, by why? It’s your kid.” Jackson asked.

“Because the Leopolds have lost enough because of me.” Stiles said softly, “and I don’t know that my wife would ever forgive me for wiping her entire family off the map. And the Leopolds are a suicide mission and Gage knows it – there’s more than fifty wolves in that pack.” Stiles rubbed at his eyes. “Let’s go back to the hotel, I need to think. The faeries will keep an eye on him.”

\--

“So, why don’t we just storm the Thomas compound and get the baby back?” Scott asked from the couch in the pack’s suite.

“It’s too heavily guarded. They’ve got a _lot_ of guns and they’d kill him before we even got across the fence line.” Stiles rubbed his hands over his face, trying desperately to think. “Why would Thomas have a beef with the Leopolds. They’re hundreds of miles away, and while they’re kind of old school, with arranged marriages and pure bloodlines and all that shit, but they’re certainly not a threat.”

Stiles phone rang as he finished his thought, and he jumped, grasping for it. “Stilinski.” He answered solemnly.

  
“Stiles, god fuck, Gage could kill me for this. They’re moving your kid tonight. Out of state. I don’t know where. Ilyia is there, Stiles. It’s a trap.”

  
“Hank, why does Gage want me to kill the Leopolds. What don’t I know?” Stiles asked curtly.

“Oh fuck Stiles you didn’t know?” Hank was breathing hard, and trying to speak very softly, “The Leopolds killed Katya. Right after you left Georgia. Their left hand and a few others came down and killed her – in retribution for Sienna.”

Stiles swallowed hard. Oh. “Stay safe, Hank.” He said, ending the call. “We need to move, now. I was trying to figure out what was missing today. Katya is Gage’s mate. He’s fucking lost it already.” He was already dialing his phone again as he grabbed for his bag and strode out of the room, knowing the werewolves in the room had heard the contents of the call.

“I know they’re moving, stay on them, and keep me apprised of their locations. The elf bitch is there.” Stiles hung up, climbing into the drivers seat of one of the rental cars, joined by his father, Peter and Derek.

Stiles phone beeped with a location. He stared at it for a long time and then started to laugh hysterically. “Oh my god they’re so stupid.”

“Why?” John asked from the passenger seat.  
  
“Because they’re heading for a camping ground out in the middle of nowhere. And right in the middle of the camping ground? A big ass, really old tree.” Stiles felt one layer of the fear fall away.

“They’re taking your son to the rootfield of a Nemeton?” Peter asked, incredulously.

Stiles nodded, calling to relay the message to the wolves in the car behind them. “Ilyia is a blood elf. She’s never understood nature-based magics. She’s still dangerous, and we have to get the baby away her if she’s holding him, but we just might all survive this.”

\--

Stiles stopped as soon as they were close enough to feel the sprawling roots of the Nemeton, parking the car off the side of the road and dropping to his knees in the grass. Before him, old-looking wooden fences and signs announced their arrival at a camp ground. There are a few lights, but it’s largely abandoned. He closed his eyes and reached out, following the roots to the center of the magic. _I come with good fortune to beg your help._

_You’re a long way from home, mage._ This Nemeton is older than the one Stiles usually communes with, feels bolder and more powerful.

_I ask permission to cross your roots, permission to borrow your strength. Permission to shed blood tonight. I swear upon the grave of my mother, and the grave of my wife, it is for a just cause._

_There is upset and imbalance here this night. A mate-less alpha is a threat to us all._ There is a long, rumbling pause. _You are a friend of the Nemeta. Your deeds tonight will be accepted as sacrifices._

Stiles thanks the Nemeton and stands, “Bodies stay where they fall tonight.” He announces quietly. “The Nemeta will accept them as sacrifices, as gifts.” He nods, and reaches out his magic, feeling the power of the Nemeton add to his as he searches. He finds it, the glowing light, the missing golden strand from his own pack bonds. His son’s pack bond looks dirty, bloody, fragile, but it’s there. He can feel him.

“Let’s hunt.” He whispers into the night before stalking towards the entrance to the camp ground.

The first thing Stiles does is knock out communication in the area. Without phones, it will be harder to alert anyone to his arrival. The McCall-Hale pack spread out, quiet and deadly, killing guard wolves before they know they’ve arrived. Allison’s bow sings quietly, the Sheriff stands towards the back, watching, listening.

As the approach the cabin, Stiles cloaks their arrival, only allowing his own heartbeat free. “Oh Gage.” He singsongs, “Come out, puppy. You didn’t tell me that my in-laws killed Katya.” There’s a freedom to this for Stiles. Slipping back into the ruthless killer he’d spent years being. “If I had known the council would have sanctioned her death I would have taken care of it before I left town.”

Gage storms out of the cabin, blind fury, beta-shifted already, stalking towards Stiles. “It’s you attacking my mate that got you into this in the first place, don’t you remember? You had to protect precious fucking humans and _embarrass us_ on a _full fucking moon_.” He stops a distance from Stiles. “Ilyia, bring the boy out here.” He says, a wolfy, angry smile spreading over his face. “Show Stiles the precious child he’s going to lose.”

Ilyia stalks from the cabin holding a bundle and Stiles heart surges, but he stays rooted to the spot. There’s a knife in Ilyia’s hand, balanced against the soft throat of his crying son. “He’s the son of a born wolf and a very powerful mage. His blood will be a delicious treat.” She looks at Stiles with a smug smirk. “Did you come here all alone? How are you going to save your son, Stiles?”  
  


Stiles doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He can see the shielded pack moving, circling, looking for an opportunity. _Please don’t let her take my son,_ he begs of the Nemeton, whose presence has joined them outside the small cabin.

The next ten seconds feel like an eternity from where Stiles is standing. Derek and Scott tackle Gage, their sight shields falling away. Peter’s grip on Ilyia’s knife hand is next, holding it firm until she turns and begins her death spell.  
  
Allison has the bundle of baby away from the elf in the next breath, and Stiles finally acts, surging his power forward to push Ilyia away from Peter. Malia and Jackson are on her in the next second, tearing her throat from her neck and leaving her bleeding body for the Nemeton.

Derek and Scott take out the half-feral alpha seconds after the Emissary, and mournful howls of the living pack raise up around the clearing.

Nothing matters to Stiles after that. Allison stands before him, offering a tiny, squalling – werewolf - child to him, and he takes the boy, wrapping his arms and his magic around his son, soothing him as he falls to his knees, holding the tiny body against his own. His father stands behind him, quietly crying with his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles looks away from his son for only a moment, one hand wrapped tightly around his finger. “Thank you.” He says, looking at his pack, feeling pride and exhilaration swirl at him through the pack bonds. “Thank you.” He looks back away, back at his son, and for the first time since Sienna’s death, he just breathes.

\--

The following days are a blur of activity. The council investigates, listens to the reports of the wolves and the faeries, hears testimony from the Nemeton, and rules the killings justified. An official apology is given to Stiles for failing to inform him of his sons extraordinary existence.

Stiles, holding the baby he’s hardly set down, accepts the apology, and informs the council that they were lucky his child had survived the ordeal. Nobody disagrees.

Before leaving Georgia, Stiles acquires a birth certificate for his son – Mason Jonathan Stilinski – and he cries as he files it, hands shaking as he writes his late wife’s name.

The first night he sleeps alone in a hotel room, with only his son beside him – separated by a magical barrier and the pillows that Alison had insisted upon – and he hardly sleeps. He is up until well into the night telling the intermittently sleeping baby about the beautiful, fierce, courageous wolf princess that was his mother. He tells him how his dad swept in and saved her from marrying the evil foreign prince. And how one of her last acts had been to save him.

The second night, Peter knocks on his hotel room door, and Stiles lets him into the room, and for the first time, he spends the night staring at his son with a warm wolf next to him in the bedroom, and it feels….right.

  
The third day they leave for Beacon Hills, and Stiles – probably abusing his mage powers – helps Mason to sleep through the plane ride, plastered to his chest.  
  
When they arrive back in California, Stiles asks to go back to the first place he went when he returned, broken and sobbing.  
  
Peter takes him and Mason to the access road, walks with him to the Nemeton, where Stiles sets the tiny baby down, reaches his hand to help the infant touch the smooth surface of the stump. “Thank you.” He says to the tree.

  
_The little one is powerful_

Stiles had sort of assumed as much. “Will you let him know you? Grow knowing the way of balance, of the earth?” He asks softly.

_He is a wolf mage, raise him well, mage,_ the voice hesitated and grew louder than just Stiles’ head, _and wolf._

Peter looked startled, staring at the stump and the mage and baby. “Did the tree just talk to me?”

Stiles turned around with a bright smile, “Congratulations, Peter, the Nemeton has decided that I get to raise Mason to be a mage, and you’re the one who gets to raise him to be a wolf.”

Peter’s smile grew, and he moved to sit beside Stiles and the baby. “I think the tree is playing matchmaker.” He reached to gently run his hand over Stiles’ overgrown stubble, bringing his face close.

  
Stiles shook his head, leaning in for a brief, tender kiss, “The tree doesn’t decide, it just guides.” He smiled, picking up the baby and standing, pulling Peter to his feet, “Let’s go home.” He said softly.

\--

Two (ish) years later.

Isaac’s laugh brought Stiles out of the book he was reading, listening carefully, and somewhat magically to the conversation in the other room.

“I did warn everyone that male pregnancies were terrible.” The blonde’s warm voice was tender. “Especially with your –”

“If you say age, I’ll smack you.” Peter said, very little heat behind the threat, “Talia was in her forties when Cora was born.”

“Yeah her early forties.” Said Hale child remarked with a snort.

“I did offer to be a surrogate.” Allison said with laughter in her voice.

  
Stiles smirked and wandered from the library into the den, peering in where the four sat, “For what it’s worth, I gave Peter like, five other magical options. He chose this.” He winked at his heavily pregnant partner before scampering away.

He’d barely made it five steps before running into a mass of wolf, which briefly dazed him before he looked up at Derek’s stoic face. “Are you also planning to go make fun of your uncle for his Geriatric –” _I heard that_ – “Pregnancy?” Stiles asked with a laugh.  
  
Derek shook his head. “No, I was going to ask if you could get your demon child to put the water back in the pool.”

  
Stiles paled, “Do what now?” He asked, eyes wide, rushing past Derek to the back yard, where the small pool was set up for the kids. “Mason Jonathan Stilinski.”

The two-year-old looked up at his father with wide honey brown eyes, a mop of black curls atop his head, dressed in red swimming shorts and a white rash guard. “Daddy.” He said, smiling brightly.  
  
He stood next to the pool, his hands behind his back, the water from the pool hovering about five feet in the air, still shaped like a pool, just out of Laura’s jumping reach. “Mason, why did you take the water out of the pool?” He asked, raising a hand to overpower his son and push the water back down to the pool, as gently as he could without splashing.

“Mel was splashin’.” Mason said, looking away from his father. “I told her to stop.”

Stiles smiled, adoration for his son filling him as he reached for him. “Oh my sweet boy. One day, you’ll learn that you need to ask for what you want. Asking nicely, or come get me or Papa, okay? You can’t just make things happen because you’re mad.”

Mason shyly looked up at his father, kissing his chin. “Sorry, Daddy.” He whispered softly.

Stiles kissed his son’s forehead, “Go play. And ASK when you need something. I’m always a tug away.” He gently traced his son’s pack bond with a loving caress, which lit the boys face up as he ran towards the pool.

  
“Thank goodness he’s cute.” Jackson said with a snort, sitting next to Danny and Scott, nursing a beer. “You made a second one of those monsters, too.” He pointed towards the door where Peter had just exited.

Stiles laughed, shaking his head and moving to pull Peter against him gently. “No, I suspect that compared to _Peter Hale_ ’s child, Mason will look like an angel.”

Peter harrumphed, “You do know you’re just as responsible for _Peter Hale_ ’s child as I am, right?”

Stiles smiled, the sunlight glistening off his honey-brown eyes as he leaned in to kiss Peter softly, “Oh, I was definitely there for that.”

Someone threw a cup of water at his back and the moment dissolved into laughter.

\--

Fifty years later

Mason Jonathan Stilinski looked at his father with somber brown eyes, one hand wrapped around his sister’s shoulders. Sienna Lydia Stilinski-Hale was two years her half-brothers junior, but matched him in every way that mattered.

Two weeks ago, their father’s husband had passed away, peacefully, living an extraordinary 95 years for a wolf that had been killed once in his thirties. He had raised Mason and Sienna to be strong, ruthless, loving and compassionate wolves.

Stiles Stilinski, age seventy-eight was ready to go, to follow his spouses into death, and he trusted the world he left behind to his children. He held out his hand, one to each of his children, pulling them in for one last hug as he rested against the partially regrown Nemeton. “I love you both, but twice is too much.” He whispered, tears in his wrinkled eyes. “You are my life and my legacy, and your mother and father loved you both so much. Peter never once treated you as anything other than his own, Mason. And without your namesake begging me to stay alive, you would never have come to exist.”

Stiles sighed and rested against the tree. “I’m ready, old friend.”

The ground rumbled and suddenly the quiet clearing came alive, leaves swirling and animals joining the pair in the clearing. Stiles’ body glowed, and then it sank backwards and down, one final sacrifice for the Nemeton.

\--

“Stiles!” Sienna’s warm, musky voice hit his ears first as he spun to see her, as beautiful as the day she’d died, running towards him. His own body felt younger, less achy as he embraced her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Thank you for keeping your promise.” She whispered, her body plastered against him.

  
“Thank you for keeping your promise to me as well.” Stiles felt a familiar, warm body against his back as Peter, who he had parted with much more recently wrapped his arms around Stiles, pressing his lips into the mans neck.  
  


Sienna broke from the kiss, meeting Peter’s eyes over Stiles’ shoulder, “Thank you for loving him.” She whispered.  
  
“Thank you for letting me.” Peter smiled, kissing her cheek softly as they both held the man who meant everything to them.


End file.
